Warm Glow of the Sun on a Winter City Night

- By Vivienne Gucwa
The winter gives New York City a more clearly defined edge. It’s an edge that can be found off the beaten path during nights when the windchill dips into the negative. The lights flicker like icy cold stars leading the way down alleys and streets not well traversed late at night.
Monotonous rushes of wind rhythmically pulse through these stark pathways lined by the frozen tears of winter that cling desperately to the ground and in the distance the warm glow of a distant sun penetrates winter’s frigid grasp.
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Reverie-wayfarers - East Village - New York City

At night when the city pauses, street lights flicker; electrical synapses trigger dream sputters and whirring blinks of sleepy eyes open and shut in the darkness.
Traversing this elaborate noir dreamscape, reverie-wayfarers pause; stop-motion refugees lit only by the cool blinks of neon signs. In these solitary single frames, night’s blackness vignettes these stolen illuminated interludes cradling them in its steady embrace.
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Gravitational collapse - Night - East Village - New York City

- By Vivienne Gucwa
As the city moves furtively into shadows, buildings render themselves one by one in the cold glow of street lamps whose light burns brightly against the dark expanse of night: supernovas pushing against gravity and their inevitable collapse into themselves.
And we wait: unaware of the solemnity of the situation.
We wait under these man-made white dwarfs pushing our dreams to the skies beyond our grasps forever propelling ourselves forward while standing completely still.
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These City Streets - New York City Alley at Night

- By Vivienne Gucwa
These city streets: at night they pulsate through our dreams branching out like dendrites sending their synaptic transmissions into our collective memory.
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Tribeca, New York City

The Gleam in the Eye of the Clouds - Chinatown - New York City

- By Vivienne Gucwa
Under the weight of the sky’s tears streets glisten reflecting the gleam in the eye of the clouds overhead. The day washes away slowly: its sorrows and joys melt into puddles under-foot.
It’s on these sorts of evenings that all of the cares in the world pale in comparison to the momentary haze that engulfs the city: a sultry, sorrowful, sedate embrace.
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Pell Street, Chinatown in the rain.